The Dead Reborn
by Rainkalen Warrior
Summary: Takes off right after Will’s line, “Its right here, between you and Jack.” What if Elizabeth didn’t step in the way she did, didn’t admit her love for Will? The ancient curse is reinstated. And Bootstrap Bill Turner...alive? UPDATED
1. Revelation

This is my first fic, and I guess you could say I'm newly initiated to fanfiction.net. I do appreciate your reviews. I do not own anything besides a copy of the DVD Pirates of the Caribbean.  
  
"You forget your place, Turner."  
"Its right here, between you and Jack."  
The son of the legendary Bill Turner stood there in his stately appearance, the wind whipping the adornment upon his hat so wildly, it seemed to Commodore James Norrington a frayed banner of hope in the silhouette of a feather.  
Yes, Turner, hope is the only ration you will have to feed on at the gallows.  
Elizabeth Swann stood looking on, beside her father, who clutched her arm in a grip of what looked like dire anxiety. The soldiers brandished their bayonets as they glinted dangerously, with almost a sheer expression of bloodlust in the bright sunlight. The crowd that had gathered to view Jack Sparrow's hanging had all fled, but were secretly huddled in the covered hallway, viewing this scene to see if justice would run its course.  
  
All of them, at my command. Both of them could be headless if I just give the word...  
"Then, Mr. Turner, I presume you are aware of the consequences of holding your place as it currently is." he spoke in his usual, honor consumed voice as he held his sword before him, directed at Will's throat like a bizarre compass signaling the bearing to death.  
Turner nodded. "I am. If all I have achieved here is the fact that the hangman will receive two pairs of boots rather than one, then so be it. At least my conscience will be clear."  
Captain Jack Sparrow nudged his associate in crime's ribs with his elbow while he held his hands up in a mock sort of surrender. "Not a good idea, Will...not at all...don't do anything stupid..."  
"You speak boldly now, Turner. This will not be so when you meet your fate. Rash actions deserve rash endings. All acts of piracy result in the culprit's hanging. You were well informed just moments ago, and so I contain no pity." He bit out his last words, emphasizing the power he held.  
"So be it," Turner replied.  
Norrington nearly rolled his eyes in disgust. No doubt Elizabeth was bursting with love and admiration for Will right at this very moment. The thought of this lurched the Commodore's proud heart.  
"Sir?" Gillette, ever anxious and persistent looked now to the Commodore.  
Norrington nodded. "Take them away. Clap them in irons, I will deal with this situation presently." He made as if to leave, as Gillette secured Sparrow and Turner's bonds and led them away, both figures with sullen, defiant expressions. When Governor Swann interjected.  
"Commodore? If I may, a word?"  
"As you wish." James folded his hands behind his back.  
Swann inhaled deeply as he stepped forward, Elizabeth at his side, just as sullen as the captives and silent as stone.  
"I beg you to plead this case otherwise. All matters concerning yourself and my daughter aside, these men have proved honorable and gracious to myself and Elizabeth, servants of the crown, as yourself. For those deeds, I feel they have redeemed themselves. In fact, I hereby decree a new law...that if a good deed requires an act of piracy, then piracy itself may be accepted as the right course."  
He spoke with authority and certainty, causing the Commodore to hesitate in his response.  
"Turner, perhaps. Yet Sparrow..."  
A series of shouts suddenly erupted from the corner of the courtyard. Norrington turned just in time to witness Jack Sparrow's form stumble over the wall overlooking the sea and disappear as he fell. Turner stood there, eyes flashing with uncertainty.  
A smirk suddenly alighted upon his lips. He tipped his hat at Elizabeth. "Miss Swann. I bid you farewell. Commodore, I go now to a better fate than at the hands of the law." He nodded at them all before himself stumbling over the wall.  
"No Will! Stop! Don't!" Elizabeth cried, racing to the wall. Norrington gaped as she herself nearly fell over. "No!" she screamed.  
"Miss Swann..." he said, dashing over to her so to prevent her from falling, should she decide to.  
"He's alive!" she shouted, as if everyone surveying the scene from the wall's edge surrounding her wasn't aware of the situation. "The Black Pearl..."  
The great ship was slowly sailing into the harbor, beneath the great rock cliff that towered above the port as if a god. Two forms could be distinctly seen moving ever so slowly, but consistently, towards its bow.  
"What's your plan of action, Sir?" Gillette persisted, his eyes never leaving the distant floundering figures.  
The Commodore looked over at Elizabeth. Her fists were clenched in what he knew to be agony, and the kindred spirit that was almost always alight in her eyes had fled like shadows in the sunlight. A tear rolled down the slope of her cheek. Her eyes rose to him, and her lips formed words that were produced in a mere, nearly inaudible whisper. "Please...let him go..."  
He looked to the sea again. Sparrow was aboard the ship, assisting in hauling Turner aboard.  
If he, the Commodore, ordered the cannons loaded, they could be fired in a matter of moments. The Black Pearl would require a few minutes for the rudder to shift and the ship to change directions. The grand galleon would be destroyed, sunk right there in the harbor and the pirate scum aboard would founder along with it. They would wash up on shore as helpless shipwrecks, and the soldiers...his soldiers at his command, would be waiting right there on the beach.  
It was all too perfect. An end to the pirate troubles of Port Royal. The greatest success in his career. And yet...he remembered the words he had spoken in the not so distant past... "I serve others, not just myself."  
He glanced at Elizabeth, who still peered up with him, her eyes now brimming with unshed tears. "Please..." she whispered.  
"Sir?" Gillette.  
"I think it is suitable to give them one day's head start," he replied, rising his eyebrows in a sort of mock jest. The appreciative glance Elizabeth gave him did not go unheeded to his eyes as he paced away. "That will be all," he announced to the soldiers.  
Gillette bowed his head and turned in, waving the soldiers away. There was no questioning Commodore Norrington after he had made an order...or you weren't around to discuss the event with your comrades in the morning.  
  
As the Commodore paced away, Elizabeth turned to her father and spoke five words, her eyes fixed on the fading officer. "I want to marry him."  
Swann's eyes lit up like the lanterns on the dock, ablaze after a long day in the tropical heat, and grateful for the ability to produce their own warmth and assurance. "Elizabeth, you mean to...hold true to your previous engagement?"  
She nodded. "I do."  
"But...Turner..."  
"He doesn't love me, Father."  
"But...he just admitted he did, at the hanging..."  
"Yes. In words, only. Though he did, rescue me, risked his life to save me...the way he refused to remain here...that look in his eye as he bid us all farewell...it was the truth. Love was not in his glance. Perhaps," she cleared her throat, while staring into Swann's eyes. "Perhaps he only said it to...insure his safety." 


	2. Coming to Terms

I er...apologize for the settings being the way they were, what with the refusal to accept anonymous reviews and all. I think even the chapter format is screwed up...my computer tends to be very slow about everything and the things it doesn't do one mile an hour it tends to do inefficiently. I hope I'll have everything straightened out really soon...  
Speaking of which, I can't tell where I left off. I shortened the first chapter because the original publishing was supposed to only include about half of the work...but I'm not sure if it worked or not, so forgive me if the same half is published again in this chapter...I don't want to leave it out. *throws a rock at the computer* I could probably get further with a hammer and chisel...  
Anyway, in this chapter...we'll stray a bit from Elizabeth and Norrington and focus on Will, who has to come to terms with everything just as Elizabeth has done, and Jack, who turns out to have all the answers, as always. (Note: If you've already read the below, disregard it and skip to the part below the second line of asterisks. I'm only saying this because I'm not sure what the whole status on this thing is...)  
* * * * * *  
"A pity call, so that is all it was." The Commodore continued the work on a title upon his desk, not bothering to glance up at his visitor.  
"That was my suspicion, as well. Nevertheless, she is positive in her decision."  
At that, James surrendered his eyes to the Governor. "So, it is to commence, then?"  
"If you would have it be, Commodore."  
"...Yes. It is what I intended before madness conquered this port and its beings." he paused, recollecting in a moment of silence. "May I...speak to Miss Swann?"  
"Of course. You plan on calling upon her, this night?"  
"Indeed. You may expect me around eight o'clock."  
"Very well. I must say, it is an honor, and it shall be an honor, to have you in my family, James."  
Norrington could not help but crack a smile. "Thank you, Sir."  
  
It was seven forty-five, and Elizabeth had never felt more nervous, ill-equipped and...confused. Why had Will turned on her? Of all the love and admiration she knew he had contained since their meeting as children...why had he thrown it all away? Why had he even partook on the mission to rescue her, if all it would amount to was this?  
He had cast aside his honor, and so his love for her...when he chose Jack's life over the life they could have had. Even as friends, with her husband being the Commodore, they could have been close friends, had some sort of life. After all, she had given up her freedom when she had agreed to marry the Commodore in order for Will's rescue, for his safety. This was the appreciation he showed her, fleeing from the law and using her as a way to excuse his wrong-doing?  
But the Commodore...he had shown her love, countless times. He had first confessed his love to her, before Will had even shown an interest. Will had even failed to accept her affection when he refused to lower his formalities and express how he felt. She had been appalled, that day he had followed her father's direction.  
Commodore Norrington, however, had expressed how he felt. That he desired to marry her. Were it not for his men, he would have leapt to his death to save her. That was love.  
He agreed to allow Sparrow to live, at first glance, for her sake and her wishes. That also was love...and respect.  
He had agreed to rescue Will, at her request. That was love, respect, and the deepest affection she had ever known.  
And just this morning, he had let his dream, what she knew to be his dream, slip through his fingers. He let Will and Sparrow and their hoard of pirates escape. And why? Because she requested it. Because...  
He loves me.  
The realization at this somehow gave her strength.  
The dress she had chosen was void of the girdle and garter belt, and so a great deal more comfortable than previous attire, such as the day she fell from the fort. It was lavishing, though it failed to produce that fashion the majority of the noble women at the port emitted. Nevertheless, she hoped it would plead worthy and please the Commodore.  
There came a knock at the door.  
He's here.  
The servant opened the door just as Elizabeth approached the edge of the stairs.  
James Norrington was clothed in rich, lavishing evening attire. His head was bare, void of his usual powdered white wig and hat. His dark brown hair was combed and tied behind his neck. He bid the servant good evening before entering and raising his eyes. His gaze immediately fell upon Elizabeth.  
"Miss Swann..."  
As she descended the stairs, she smiled richly. "Please, Commodore. Call me Elizabeth. I feel we are past these formalities."  
He smiled as he walked forward to take her hand and place a kiss upon it. "Very well, Elizabeth. Then you must do me an honor in return by casting aside my military and proper title as well, and call me James."  
"I shall."  
"As I was about to say, you look beautiful." * * * * * *  
  
Will stood on the bow, his hand clutching the tattered rigging as his eyes lay fixed on the horizon. The silence that had settled upon deck was the exact sort of thing he had wished for. He needed to think.  
Elizabeth...  
What had he done? Thrown away pure gold without a second glance, he thought. Yes, that was what he had done.  
No one would forgive him now. There was no law that would overlook his actions, and as far as he knew, there was no man who could conjure such a law that would soothe all of the felonies he had committed and assisted in the making of.  
Footsteps sounded on the deck behind him, accompanied by a cheery whistling tune.  
"Why in such a dismal mood, mate?" Jack Sparrow, newly reinstated Captain of the Black Pearl, stepped up beside Will. "You look as if you just lost something you loved," he jested, his eyes fixed into a smile.  
"Very funny."  
"I thought you'd agreed to Miss Swann's proposal to bloody Norrington back at the cave. What was with that, anyway? Another one of your failed wooing attempts?"  
Will turned to him, eyes lit by the fading light in the sky and consumed with regret. "What else was I to do? As the Commodore said once before, I'm a blacksmith. How does my word put up even the smallest contest to the words of Norrington?"  
Jack paced by him, an apple clasped in his hand. He casually nibbled at it, eyes never leaving the sea. "If you believe that, mate, you've got less of your father in you than I'd thought."  
Will lowered his voice. "And you may be right..."  
"But, as I see it, you've told her how you felt, right?"  
"Yes."  
"At the opportune moment, eh?"  
"Yes..."  
"Though I noticed, in between your little jests with the Commodore, she never interrupted. Could be that her father's got control over her. Or it could be that she's saved your pathetic hide too many times before when you've had a brush with the law that she couldn't do it again. Should've played my cards better than I had. A mistake on my part, returning to the Dauntless. Wish I had had a couple of sea turtles right then."  
He smirked, finishing the apple and tossing the core into the depths.  
  
"What you've got to come to terms with, mate, is the fact that you're a fugitive-turned good for three-days-turned fugitive again. Your return to Port Royal will grant you what you've always wanted, I'm sure. You'll be a full-fledged pirate then, boy."  
"That's what Elizabeth wanted," Will replied, his voice threaded in ruefulness.  
"Aye. But she's got herself a good life besides that. All that was, love of pirates and whatnot, nothing except childhood desires."  
"Something other than a life as the governor's daughter," he commented.  
"Exactly. But, no worries. Life as a pirate has got its good eggs."  
"I see nothing that can make me forget my actions, Jack."  
"See that's where you're wrong. You'll find yourself a girl, mate. Just, Young Missy wasn't the one, savvy?"  
Will sighed deeply. It was now nearly dark. The lanterns on the deck had been lit. "I...know. Yes, I know. At least...she'll be safe." He turned, crossing his arms and fixing Jack with a sullen yet temperate expression. "Where to now, Captain?"  
Jack grinned, clapping Will on the shoulder. "Aye, that's what I wanted to hear! We're off to Tortuga, mate. Going to see if I still got me connections that can repair the Pearl." He moved toward the edge and stroked the railing. "Still got to get her clean of Barbossa's filth."  
Jack nodded at the sea, as if he had acknowledged it worthy to grace the boat that now graced him as captain. "Night, mate," he murmured to his companion as he paced away to the captain's quarters.  
Will took a last glimpse of the rising moon before turning below deck. Its over, Will...you've got to accept that. You can never go back, he thought.  
He sighed, surrendering his weary, perplexed soul to the night as he sauntered down the stairway, the silence of the evening replaced with the laughter and merry voices of the crew as he descended.  
You can never go back. 


	3. The Plague Returns

The moonlight fell in its scattered beams and lavished the cell in such light that it revealed the tired, soiled occupants within. None smiled. None surrendered any sign of life, besides the snickering of those too competent to surrender to their fate of imprisonment, and the nervous whispering of those who did in fact yield to their doom.  
"Might as well be all dead," Pintel remarked, glancing outwards toward the moon.  
A fight hadn't broken out in at least three hours, since the sun had begun to set. Blood that had fallen from wounded jaws had gathered in tiny droplets throughout the compartment. The blood that was now spent so selfishly, and with a purpose other than to conceal the truth of the undead.  
Ragetti sat, calm and collected, his shoulders propped against the corner wall. He held his knife and wooden eye in his hands, both he had managed to recover and conceal before he had been captured and, he thought ruefully, imprisoned. With an angry roll of his remaining eye, he continued to cut away thoughtlessly at the adornment (though, due to constant whittling extracted by boredom, the tiny wooden sphere was now reduced to the state of what he considered a "most uncomfortable fit") and remained content at brushing the shavings into the darkness.  
"Oh, agree I do," he suddenly replied to Pintel's regretful muttering. "Been alive and sufferin' for nigh ten years, been dead, and yet, alive! Strange fate is it now we get what we seek, even when our own lives are about to end!"  
"Turned philosopher, have you?" Pintel shot at him, rolling his eyes.  
"No. I've just got me wits about me, is all. Days before appointment at the gallows can do that to one, I guess." He absently popped the eye back into his skull, blinking three times before he turned to face Pintel.  
"Idiot," muttered Pintel.  
"Am not!"  
"Don't bet on that."  
"You're the landlubber, always taking about "Me home", "Me Mum..."  
"Lying idiot!" bellowed Pintel, hurling his fist at Ragetti's face.  
The blow sent the wooden eye springing from its socket. It flew across the room and knocked one of the other men squarely on the forehead. The poor fools eyes rolled back into his head and he fell over, a stupid grin fixed on his face.  
Ragetti, half-blinded and his vision dimmed all the greater by the absence of light in the room, struggled about, his knife still held in his hand as Pintel's hands clasped his neck, shaking him so that his head repeatedly struck the stone floor. The men around him began to laugh and cheer at the entertainment.  
"Calling me that! Of all the-" he was cut short with a shrill cry of surprise.  
Ragetti knew what had happened, though he could see nothing. His hand strayed from where it had been clutching the knife's handle to return at his waist. The knife now lay lodged in Pintel's heart. Blood surged from it. The chanting suddenly stopped, as all men paused and stood as still as stone to behold.  
"Oh! I didn't mean it! I didn't mean it!" shouted Ragetti, throwing his arms up in surrender. "I'm sorry, Pint!"  
Pintel said nothing, only gaped at his companion below him.  
After what seemed an eternity, he blinked and his face became a mask of horror. "It...it doesn't hurt," he managed to say.  
"Pint!" Ragetti cried, still basking in sorrow and regret.  
"No, it...I'm not dead!"  
Ragetti stared at him, both of his eyebrows, even the one sheltering an empty eye socket, were raised. "What? Hey, that kind of reminds of me of when Barbossa'd shot you! Right in the very spot...you didn't die then, neither!"  
"No!" said Pintel, grinning and clapping his companion on the shoulder as he pulled the knife from his chest. A sudden expression of realization broke upon his face as he stared down at the bloodstained blade. He narrowed his eyes and glared at Ragetti. "You stabbed me!"  
"I didn't mean it..."  
Those who had been watching drew forward with an air of curiosity about them. One man in particular approached, his eyes cavernous and glittered with disbelief. "The curse! The curse is upon us!" he cried, throwing his arms in the air.  
The entire room burst into an uproar as men attempted to seize the knife from Pintel, determined to likewise seize their own lives to prove that which had been introduced to them. The man who had voiced the obvious stabbed himself directly in the heart. He doubled over, though more from impact than obvious pain. In an instant, he plucked the blade free and cast it upon the ground. Fresh blood splattered everywhere.  
He raised his arms. "The curse!" he cried.  
"Could not have come to us at a better time!" Pintel proclaimed, staring about him.  
Ragetti looked up at him uncertainly. "What? But how?"  
"Never mind the reason, you bilge rat! This is perfect!"  
Another one of his former fellow crew-members, Twigg, stepped up. "When they hangs us, we'll be alive till the end! We won't die! Its a plan, mates! First man at the gallows ere day breaks. Let him render them all asunder!" The man shouted, throwing his dirt-caked hands into the air.  
Cheering began to reside. There was no thoughtful silence, Ragetti noticed. No sign of contemplating this unexplainable event. All that mattered, he thought eagerly, was that the scoundrel buccaneer crew once under the command of the deadly Captain Barbossa now had their chance for freedom. For revenge.  
To blazes with the reasons! Ragetti thought as he scurried into the corner once more, seizing his knife and wooden eye from the ground.  
They'll all be time to figure it all out, later.  
Later, when we're all free and the soldiers are all dead.  
  
Sorry it took so long to update, I'm usually more responsible than this! Finals are coming up, and I have a lot of homework so I'm trying to balance...and...yeah. Sorry for no involvement of Jack or Will or anyone. They'll definitely be in the next chapter. This was kind of weird to write...oh well. Thanks for reading! 


	4. Seeking

The excited chatter and commotion of the pub brought no change in his casual stature as he fixed his eyes upon the empty mug before him. His well-tanned skin radiated a strong aroma of salt, as if he had just been plucked from the sea.

He shook his head sadly as he drained the remains of the goblet. He wiped the residue from his now clean-shaven face with the back of his hand. To those few that resided in the bar this early at midday, that had taken the time to acknowledge his presence, he was the perfect example of a tattered, adventuresome enigma come upon them in search of riches.

The man rested his chin in his hands, his azure eyes distilled in deep concentration.

Enough was enough, he decided. It was time to act. He had arrived at his destination, and it was time to seek that which he had toiled and sought for, for so long...

He rose, flipping a coin at the bartender as he passed the counter. He nodded absently as he tucked a stray lock of hair behind his ear and paced out into the thriving community of Port Royal.

Soldiers paced to and fro down the roadways, and tradesmen and messengers for the docks bustled upon in their daily routines. The man glanced about him left and right, searching for any residence bearing the hammer and anvil symbol of the blacksmith trade also bearing the name J. Brown.

"I'm looking for a man named William Turner," the man had said to the bartender, only two hours before.

"Never heard of him...wait." The bartender paused and thought. "Ah. The convict. He's escaped, I'm afraid."

Concern, and a meager evidence of pleased amusement suddenly alighted in the man's eyes. "Convict? For what crime?"

The bartender shrugged. "Assisting and harboring pirates, or somethin' to that degree. Heard of his escape from my nephew. He's a soldier at the fort. Said the man clearly went mad. Denounced his love to the governor's daughter, swore fealty to a pirate, and leapt over the wall."

_Been busy, haven't you, Will?_

"Would you know, if Mr. Turner had any connections in the town?"

"Aye, I would. A blacksmith. At the shop just 'round the corner there."

"Thank you."

"Wait," the bartender said, taking a dishrag and aimlessly wiping his hands with it. "Take care where you go. Soldiers won't hesitate to take you into captivity, should you give them any reason to do so. Do not carry the name of William Turner lightly on your tongue. Nor the name Jack Sparrow, as well."

A smirk crossed the mysterious man's chapped lips. "Jack Sparrow. Right you are, thank you and I shall be careful."

He came upon it at last. J. Brown. _Well, _he thought, _I shall soon speak the words that have stayed with me at the bottom of ocean for a decade..._

And the legendary Bootstrap Bill Turner raised his fist to knock on the humble blacksmith shop.


End file.
